Iron Fic: Severus Snape
by The Chairman
Summary: Contestants were given 24 hours to write 1500 words using Severus Snape as the secret ingredient.
1. The Man of a Million Rumors

**The Man of a Million Rumors**

Albus Severus Potter, or Asp if you were a friend, shot a warning glare at the giggling first years. He didn't know how he got himself into these things. The Wheezes hadn't even been his! James "The Second Coming of Harry" Potter had, of course, gotten off easy. One stinking night of detention. Probably doing something fun, like helping Hagrid. Professor Cadwallader apparently hadn't gotten the daily memo that it was okay to like Slytherins now, and had assigned Albus two weeks of tutoring first years, and an essay on his, Albus', namesake. He had a feeling Cadwallader meant Dumbledore, but damned if he was going to add to the library of worship that man already had.

He was trying to knock the essay out now, but it was proving difficult. His first years didn't want to study. He looked down at the one sentence he'd written:

_Severus Snape, former Headmaster of Hogwarts, was a complicated man._

"All of the Quidditch posters are finally up in the trophy room," one of the Ravenclaw boys whispered. Did they really think Albus was deaf?

"Ooooh! Have you seen Teddy Lupin's picture?" a Gryffindor girl said. "He's so cute!"

"I heard he used to change his hair to match the team they were playing," a Hufflepuff boy said.

"Yeah, it was something about being a mark of respect," the first boy said.

"I heard he's the only Beater in Hogwarts history to make it through his entire career without a broken bone."

Albus made a mental note to check with both Teddy and Uncle George on that.

"I heard he's an Animagus. A falcon."

"I heard he's half werewolf."

"How can you even be half werewolf?"

"He doesn't change completely during full moons.

"I heard—"

"Enough!" he snapped. "You lot are supposed to be working. I can't concentrate when you're talking." He went back to his paper. Nothing brilliant was springing to his mind. He had all of the facts, but putting them together was the problem.

"I heard he got Victoire pregnant her seventh year. That's why she had to leave."

"She was on an exchange program to France, for Merlin's sake!" Albus said. "No one got anyone pregnant. I swear, the things you lot will believe. It's…." He stopped. A bit of an idea began to shimmer on the edge of his mind. He smirked at them, and put down his quill. "Since you are determined not to work today," he said. "I wonder if you could help me with something."

Six eager faces stared back at him. All of them were nodding vigorously.

He hoped he hadn't been this ridiculous as a firstie. "I want to know all the stories you've heard about Headmaster Snape."

It was like a dam had burst. The first years recounted rumors with utter delight. From heroic to gruesome, they told him every wild story they'd ever heard about the former Headmaster. He had to make them queue after a while to keep them from talking over each other. His idea was turning into a proper plan now. He just had to pull it off.

"Coming with us, Asp?" Gorrin Zabini asked.

"I'll meet you at the Three Broomsticks later. Have to go give my paper to Cadwallader." With a nod to his friends, he ran up the stairs to the Muggle Studies professor's office. "Professor?" he called, knocking.

"Enter, Potter. You have your work, I presume."

"Yes, sir." He pushed the sheet of parchment across Cadwallader's desk. "I'll just be—"

"Stay," the professor said. He was one of those old, crotchety men who liked to read the students' work aloud. He said that it was so that he could hear it better in his head, but Albus suspected he really just liked making the students squirm. "You may take a seat."

Albus hopped onto one of the desks as the older wizard read his paper. He'd ended up interviewing about a dozen more people for rumors. This was either the best idea for a paper he'd ever had, or the dumbest.

"Severus Snape was a complicated man," he began. "Hmmph, that's an understatement…."

_In his short lifetime, he became not only the Half-Blood Prince, but the Man of a Million Rumors. In the time since his death, the Wizarding world has learned of his heroic, if complicated, life. However, like any famous individual, details surrounding his exploits have been…blurred. Though books on his life have been written, nowhere is there a compendium of the rumors that have sprung up about this mysterious man. Here, I will attempt to describe the rumors and their origins, as well as find an answer to them._

"A rumor isn't a question, Potter," Cadwallader paused to say. "It doesn't need an answer."

That wasn't exactly what Albus had meant, but he stayed quiet as his teacher continued to read.

"_I heard he could turn into a bat."—Gryffindor, First Year_

_This is entirely untrue. Though he mastered a type of Apparation that has been equated to flying (see below), he never once turned into a bat. This rumor comes from the large capes he was known to wear. These gave him the appearance of a winged creature._

"_I heard he could fly. Just like You-Know-Who."—Ravenclaw, First Year_

_Both sides of the war, the Death Eaters and Dumbledore's Army, mastered what is known as Transference Apparation. This is only good over short distances, say about seven blocks or less. It also gives you the appearance of a cloud of smoke. The Death Eaters preferred black smoke, while the Aurors and Dumbledore's Army used white. All so cliché._

"_I heard he killed his mum in his third year."—Hufflepuff, Second Year_

_No. Mrs. Snape died of a heart attack during Professor Snape's third year. He had nothing to do with it._

"_I heard he was a spy for our side during the war."—Hufflepuff, First Year._

_This is true. Corroborated by the written accounts of the late Albus Dumbledore, as well as testimonies from Harry Potter._

"_I heard he used to torture Gryffindors for fun."—Slytherin, First Year_

_Torture did occur at Hogwarts during the final year of the war. However, it was perpetrated by Amycus and Alecto Carrow—two Death Eaters who were stationed in the castle. Professor Snape, then Headmaster, did not stop it as a practice, because it would have given him away. There were specific cases where he was able to intervene. For more information on these instances, I recommend Professor Longbottom's memoir, The Vanishing School._

"_I heard he never washed his hair."—Hufflepuff, Third Year_

_Really? Does anybody seriously believe this? Since this is an academic essay, I shall refrain from calling all who believe this rumor a bunch of idiotic meatheads. However, I want to. There is no indication that Professor Snape neglected any of the basics of hygiene. The former headmaster's portrait wished me to include the fact that stress makes one's hair more oily than natural._

"_I heard he was deathly afraid of…." Various students_

_There are many variations of this rumor, ranging from a fear of Bowtruckles to a fear of unicorns. I have no idea where this came from, and quite frankly I think people were playing silly buggers with me._

"_I heard he was really sorted into Gryffindor, but the Sorting Hat yelled Slytherin because he begged it to."—James Potter, sixth year_

_May I say, on behalf of all Slytherins, back off! Can't we have just one without you lot trying to claim him? This rumor comes from the fact that Gryffindor got greedy after the war, and wanted all the heroes to themselves. Let's get one thing sorted right now: Professor Snape was a sneak. Yes, he was brave, but it was the Slytherin sort. The sort that doesn't care if anyone sees. We'll never know if the Hat considered other options (it refused to divulge that information), but the former Headmaster was, indeed, a Slytherin._

Cadwallader set the paper back on the desk and scowled at it for a long moment. Finally he looked up at Albus. "Well played, Potter. Full marks."

It took every bit of will power to keep the grin off his face. He slung his bag over his shoulder and hopped off the desk. "Thanks, Professor."

"I must confess I expected something on Headmaster Dumbledore."

"I thought this would be a more challenging endeavor." At this, he really did start grinning.

"A little on the frivolous side, don't you think?"

"I'm simply defending his honor, and clearing up some misconceptions. I left out the bit about the affair with Sirius Black. And the one about his secret love child with Bellatrix Lestrange."

"I'm grateful. I'm also adding another week of tutoring."

Albus' mouth dropped open. "But…why?"

"You're supposed to be helping the younger students with their work, not running the Hogwarts Prophet's gossip column." He excused Albus with a wave of his hand.

Albus was pretty sure he saw his professor smirk as well. With a scowl, he left the office. At least he'd made top marks.


	2. Severus Snape's Last Christmas

Severus Snape's Last Christmas

The elf-made wine was rich and full-bodied, felt smooth on his tongue and – once he had drunk a couple of glasses – left him with a warm glow that would have been pleasant nostalgia in a happier man. But for Severus Snape, nostalgia was not a pleasant feeling.

It was Christmas night, and he was alone. Not that that was anything new. Apart from the few brief years when he had a friend, a real friend, he had always been alone.

He looked round the headmaster's study with something approaching disdain. There had been a time when he would have been happy to have the right to be here as Headmaster of Hogwarts. The boy from Spinners End, the one with no friends, the ultimate failure, Headmaster of one of the most prestigious schools in the wizarding world? But it should not have happened like this. He was Headmaster by default, because those now in authority thought he would toe the new party line. He supposed he should be proud that his acting and subterfuge were so good that they truly believed it, but that was a bitter victory if it could be called a victory at all. This study still felt to him as if it were Dumbledore's, as if he had usurped his place, the place of the man he had killed. Apart from the absence of the Phoenix, Fawkes, the room still looked as it had when it was Albus Dumbledore's. Severus had done nothing to make the room his own. He felt he had not the right.

Even the wine was Dumbledore's.

He poured another glass for himself and swallowed it in one gulp. It tasted of regret, of loss, of being alone. And he remembered.

_The first Christmas that he remembered he would have been four or five years old. It was Christmas Eve. He was cowering in his bed in the dark (he hated the dark) listening to the sounds of his parents arguing downstairs. He was used to it; Mother and Father were always arguing. He winced and slid further down beneath the thin blankets as he heard the crash of something being thrown at the wall. It was always like this when Father had been drinking. Part of him, the tiny brave part, wanted to rush down the narrow stairs and stand there with his mother, to try and defend her. His mother, tired and defeated although she was, was his idol and his rock. It was she who whispered stories to him of rich houses and happy people and meals that did not leave you feeling hungry when you finished them; it was she who gave him the food from her own plate when the money was even shorter than usual; it was she who told him he was clever, handsome, special; it was she who loved him. It was she too who shared the difference that made them stand apart from the other people in this dirty little town, apart from his fierce and angry father; it was she who shared the magic._

_Severus was just old enough to understand that it was this above all else that made his father so angry._

"_He is just like you!" was an accusation coming from his father to his mother when talking about their son, not a fond and loving affirmation as it would be in a more ordinary family. Severus knew, with his child's mind, that his father could not forgive him – or more importantly, his mother – for the difference that set him apart._

_The brave part of him wanted to stand with his mother against the tyrant who both hated and loved her, but the rest of him, the part that was scared and hungry and lonely and sad so much of the time, wanted to lie here in bed and pretend it was not happening, to pretend that he had a mother and father who loved each other and who loved him, to pretend that he would wake in the morning as other children did to a pile of presents and a sparkling Christmas tree, and a dinner that would fill him so full he could scarcely move. He slid further down in the bed and closed his eyes tight. If he tried hard enough and long enough, he could will himself to sleep and oblivion._

Severus shook himself free of the memories he could not ever get rid of completely. He hated Christmas with its overtones of family togetherness and goodwill to all men. When had he known anything of either? Christmas was not a time for such as he.

He set down his glass with a bang, and walked over to the window. It was a clear bright night. It had snowed earlier, and the grounds glowed with the reflection of the almost full moon. There had been a time when he loved Hogwarts and would have rejoiced at the beauty before him. That was the time when school was an escape from home, where he was not the freak, the weirdo, the one with the difference that set him apart. And that was the time when he had had a friend.

"_It's not much…" Lily's face, turned upwards to him was anxious, which was not like her. She was always the confident one, the one who would encourage him and tell him to believe in himself. Perhaps she was aware, as he was, that they were growing apart despite themselves. They were fifth years now, with OWLs before them, and the prospect of leaving school and deciding their futures not so very far away. And more, there was a war in progress, a war in which they would have to take sides sooner or later. She was a Gryffindor, he was a Slytherin. He knew she feared, as he did, that they would choose different sides. But he could not change who he was, even for Lily. And he would not wish her to change for him. He loved her._

_He took the silk-wrapped gift she gave him and smiled down at her. "Thank you," he said gravely. "I do not have anything for you. I am sorry."_

_She shook her head, her eyes sparkling and her hair rippling around her head in a way that made him want to drop the gift and run his fingers through it. He could not remember a time when he had not been in love with her. "It doesn't matter," she said. "Have a happy Christmas, Sev. I'll miss you." She reached up and kissed him briefly on the cheek and then turned and was gone._

_That had been the last Christmas when they were friends._

Severus felt tears on his cheeks and cursed himself for his weakness. Why had wizards, with all their magic and cleverness, not come up with a memory charm that would take away the hurt in remembering? He could not think of Lily without regret, without hating himself for how he had failed and betrayed her, but he did not want to forget. The remembrance of her love was all he had, and was the reason he was here now, why he was doing what he did, why he lived this life of deceit and betrayal, with no man or woman truly his friend or his confidant.

Perhaps it would be over soon. Perhaps the end would come. He felt now that he scarcely cared which side won and which lost. All he wanted was an end to it, and for himself either peace or oblivion. He thought and feared that they were probably the same thing, however it ended.

At least he had the skills now to procure himself a temporary respite. He strode over to the cabinet by the desk and withdrew a tiny bottle. He poured the dregs of the wine into the glass and added two or three drops of the potion. With a grim smile he composed himself in the Headmaster's chair, wrapped his cloak around himself, and drained the glass. The glass fell to the floor and shattered as he fell into a deep and dreamless sleep.

When Severus woke, it was late afternoon and a voice behind him was saying his name over and over in a low but insistent voice.

"Severus! Severus, wake up! It is time."

He shook himself into wakefulness and stood up, his cloak falling to the ground. He turned to face the portrait of Dumbledore behind the desk.

"It is time Severus. The sword…"

"But Headmaster, where…?" Severus did not finish the sentence. Phineas Nigellus was back in his frame and talking to him. The Forest of Dean, they were in the Forest of Dean.

Severus moved without really thinking about it. This had been planned for so long. He picked up his cloak and put it on, only half hearing Albus Dumbledore's words of instruction and caution. He knew what he had to do.

The sword felt heavy in his hand. The grip felt wrong. He was not a Gryffindor – it was not his to wield.

Still, as he tucked it beneath his cloak and turned to leave the study, he heard two voices in his head, as clearly as if the speakers had been there with him.

"My son. My brave, clever son. Mama loves you, Severus."

"Happy Christmas, Sev. Thank you for doing this for my Harry."

Severus shook his head to clear it. They were dead, they were both dead.

And he had a job to do.


End file.
